


Like Real People Do

by sohini96



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Gen, M/M, Magic, Magical Realism, Mutual Pining, Secret Identity, Werewolf Jack Zimmermann, Witch Eric "Bitty" BIttle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-16
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-08-24 07:09:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16635272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sohini96/pseuds/sohini96
Summary: Eric Bittle and Jack Zimmermann both come to Samwell University hoping for a fresh start and a new path. But despite appearances, neither of them are your typical college students, and both have secrets that could threaten to tear their new lives and friendships apart. Will they be able to overcome their fears and reconcile their two identities? Will they finally find the happiness and peace they crave? And will they ever realise that their mutual dislike of each other is, in reality, hiding something more?





	1. The Discovery (Eric)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ZepysGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZepysGirl/gifts).



> This is my work for the Fandom Trumps Hate Auction 2018! A big thanks to Morgan for donating to The Trevor Project, so sorry for all the delays, I hope you like this! :))))))))

Eric Richard Bittle (junior) was only six years old when he discovered that he wasn’t exactly like most other children his age.

It all started with one little duck.

Eric, or Dicky as his mama called him, was playing hopscotch down the road with some of his neighbours, carefree, when he suddenly noticed something lying in the gutter a few feet away. 

Being a six-year-old, and a curious one at that, little Dicky decided to walk over and investigate, much to the horror of his friends, who refused to go beyond one hundred metres of their houses.

He pushed aside the bush that was obstructing his view, and to his horror, discovered the body of the resident mama duck that lived nearby, and that he always fed and cuddled with. He couldn’t see any of her chicks anywhere, and judging by her injuries, she appeared to have been unfortunately shot by some careless person.

He could feel the tears pooling in his eyes, and even though he tried as hard as he could to ‘man up’, as Daddy always told him to, he was a sensitive sort, and couldn’t help but sob helplessly at the sight of his lifeless friend, or ‘Fluffy’, as he’d named her. She’d been coming over to his house ever since he was a little toddler, and as tiny children do, he’d almost adopted her, and she in return had become a very close, if not communicative companion.

He patted her smooth feathers, remembering how she loved to cuddle up to him in the evenings, and buried his face in her now cold feathers, crying loudly.

Until inexplicably, in his sorrow he felt something soft moving against his face, followed by some soft quacks and flapping

He shot back, shocked, and to his extreme surprise, saw that Fluffy was now suddenly up and about, preening and trotting slowly around him before burying herself in his lap, accompanied by some soft quacks. Although she still had a gash across her side, she was most definitely alive and kicking.

It was like he’d never seen her in those bushes.

He immediately got up, jostling Fluffy, and ran home to his mama to tell her about what had happened, with Fluffy waddling along behind him.

Suzanne Bittle didn’t believe her son’s seemingly impossible description of events at first, but it wasn’t until the little wood duck stepped inside the house, still bleeding slightly from her wound, that she finally realised that what had happened was indeed the case. Along with Dicky’s seemingly prodigious talent for baking and cooking, far beyond anything any normal little child’s capabilities, even her own, she was beginning to have some inkling of what might be in the future.

She made a quick sign of the cross, dumbfounded and amazed, before giving her little Dicky a kiss on the forehead, sending him to shower and making arrangements for the recovery of their new little resident, before bolting to the phone and calling up her own mama. Lord knew that such kind of powers were beyond her, but she’d be damned if she and her family didn’t raise their little munchkin right, in all senses of the word.

 

As little Dicky grew, his powers only seemed to grow as he was slowly trained by his indulgent but strict Moomaw and his beloved Mama in the little time he had away from school and figure skating practice. His Moomaw taught him all her little kitchen secrets and tricks, both magical and non-magical, helping him to hone and perfect this craft until his skills were beyond even hers, while his Mama, with a fair amount of trepidation, taught him the skills of healing, helping and eventually reliably resurrecting the tiny creatures he so loved, of which he had now adopted many, until he was assisting almost every single animal and plant in his entire town. Otherwise, his life went on as normal- school, TV, pop music, fantasising about the boys on MTV, reading and comics- and he quickly adapted to this double life he had, as fast as would normally be expected of a ten year old boy. He was happy as a little clam.

His Dad, a perfectly normal human man, wasn’t supposed to find out his little son’s secret, but like most secrets, he stumbled upon it eventually. In this case, it was when Eric, getting impatient for an apple-caramel pie to bake for his coterie of friends who were at his place for a sleepover, stealthily enchanted the pie to become crisp and golden in a matter of minutes, before grabbing it out of the oven, hastily cooling it again with a wave of his fingers and running full-speed back to the living room to the sounds of cheering and whooping, unaware that anybody had seen his unique antics.

To be sure, he was shocked at first, sending a silent prayer to the Lord above that his son hadn’t been marked by the Devil with his witchcraft. But with unusual tact, he realised that instead of direct confrontation, he should talk to Suzie about this first, as he was sure that she knew about this, considering Dicky told her every single thing about his life. He was relieved when he did eventually discuss it with her later that night when Dicky was fast asleep, and after knowing that this was a skill that was being harnessed and utilised for good, and after a long discussion with the kind, open-minded pastor at their church, Coach Bittle was assured that his little boy was, in fact, deeply blessed by the Lord, not cursed. And after talking with Dicky about it, he knew everything was going to be absolutely fine. His family was just a little unusual, that was all.

But dark clouds started coming up on the Bittles’ rosy horizon when Eric got a little older. Junior high was tough on the now not-so-little Dicky. His darling Moomaw passed away when he was twelve. At the very beginning of junior high, many of his friends had moved away to other schools and even to other states. Figure skating under Katya became more and more intense as Eric’s true talent began to show, although he loved it nonetheless. And as it became more obvious that the bright, chatty and somewhat slight blonde boy was not your normal Southern boy in every sense of the word, he became the target of relentless bullying and prejudice, relentless all the way from the beginning of junior high to its dark climax at the very end of his last year at junior high, with the horrible outcome of Eric being locked in a dark, tiny supply closet for an entire night, injured, defenceless and powerless by a particularly mean faction of the football team. They had tossed his brand new iPhone in the toilet and smashed it to tiny pieces, taken away his Beyoncé and Taylor Swift posters and ripped them to shreds, broken his right arm and fingers so that he was unable to free himself neither conventionally nor using his gift, and in their jealousy and rage at his skating abilities, had tossed him roughly into the closet, bruising both his legs.

He cried and screamed and uselessly flailed for hours and hours in the dark confines of the closet, hungry and thirsty, wondering whether he’d ever see the light again. He honestly thought he would die in there, and once he fell unconscious after an eternity of trying to attract attention, thought that this was the end of his suffering.

Thankfully, the hard working janitor found him just before it was too late, unlocking the closet at almost midnight to find the exhausted young man tumbling out into the hallway, beaten and bruised, but still mercifully alive, clutching the tiny crucifix he always wore on his neck until the edges had cut his swollen fingers.

When waiting with him at the hospital, Eric’s parents thanked him again and again, sobbing profusely, and wondering how exactly he had saved their son. They were, once again shocked when the janitor said that he had noticed a soft, flashing golden light coming from the closet when the rest of the school was otherwise dark and deserted. They both looked at each other and made the sign of the cross. It was just then when Eric, clutching his mother and fathers’ hands, slowly began to wake up.

After his son had recovered completely, a long and slow process, resolute, Coach Bittle put his foot down. He would not and could not tolerate the lies, the prejudice and the scaremongering anymore. He got every single member of the football team involved in that fateful incident suspended or expelled and dismissed from the team, ruining their chances at college football. He became one of the founding adult members of the PFLAG team in this town where he had grown up. And finally, he handed in his resignation and moved an hour away to the much more tolerant town of Madison, where he became the high school football coach. It was hard for all of them, especially Dicky, but Eric Richard Bittle, senior knew that he was doing the right thing.

In Madison, Eric slowly but surely settled in. He started by coming out to his parents, who although had suspected this, still took some time to get over all the toxic, negative things they had been taught by their Southern culture and their religion, although these had been tempered a lot by their open-minded church. They fully accepted him, in the end, and their love and care melted all of Eric’s fears. He formed a small farm for his little menagerie, and saved an abandoned pet rabbit who had become a road casualty, resurrecting him before delicately nursing him back to health, and who had now adopted Eric and become his new son. Upon learning he would be taking Spanish at school, he named the cream coloured ball of fluff Senor Bun. He started high school, where he was much happier and most importantly, accepted for who he was, and quickly gained a large group of friends with his kindness and sunny nature. He made leaps and bounds in his magical education with his mother, who had taken over this aspect of his life. And he made such strides in his figure skating, despite the now long commute, that he made it all the way to the Southern Junior Regional competition, where he took took out third place, much to his surprise and to his parents’ and Katya’s joy. Katya told him that he could even reach Olympic level if he kept up his training. 

But the extreme hours and long commute were getting to him. He had so much more than figure skating to look forward to in his life now, and now that he could, he wanted to have a more normal teenage life. 

Most importantly, however, he saw that while his dad was always proud of him, figure skating was not one of the, to his father, ‘manliest’ sports. So he made a tough decision- he left figure skating. 

But he had a backup plan. There was an ice rink not a ten minute drive from his house, and after sitting in on the hockey practice sessions, and after some thought and his parents’ approval, started playing on the co-ed team. He ended up loving it almost as much as he loved figure skating, and was one of the team’s most popular and skilled members being an excellent skater and a diligent, rule-abiding player. His popularity was at least partly due to his exceptional pies, which he baked friendship, amity and acceptance into and brought to every single practice, but he was such a lovely boy that even without them he would have still been, undoubtedly one of the hearts of the team. Meanwhile, he became so skilful at this new sport in fact, that in his junior year, he was made captain from a unanimous vote, and even in a non-checking league, began to bring scouts coming from Division 1 colleges come to his little town to check him and some other talented members of his team. 

And in his senior year, in the haze of SAT’s, hockey practice, starting his vlog channel, advanced magic classes from the most talented kitchen witch in Georgia and his internships at the nearby bakery and the vet, just before his graduation, everything suddenly came to a head when his application to Samwell College, his dream school, an LGBT+ friendly, Division I hockey liberal arts school far away in Massachusetts, a mere episode of wishful thinking on his part, was successful, and with a scholarship for hockey, no less. His parents were thrilled, and despite the distance, they willingly allowed him to go. And just like that, he was now a college student.

In the hours after he submitted his application, he went and sat in the nearby church for a long while, thumbing his long-neglected crucifix, and praying properly for the first time after that dreadful incident all those years ago. He talked to his kind, gentle youth pastor properly for a long time, and realised that no matter what had happened and what people had said about him, God had never abandoned him. God loved him for who he was. God would always have his back.

He returned home, gave all his pets some extra food, put a batch of chocolate chip cookies in the oven and started making a list of what he’d need to pack for Samwell. Always good to be prepared.


	2. Lost and Found (Jack)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now we hear the other side of the story- Jack's story, and how he ended up at Samwell.

Everything was almost perfect until that sunny day in June. 

He and Kent had led Rimouski to their very first Memorial Cup last month. They were both guaranteed the top two places in the draft, going to teams that would make them household names. But that was later. Now? Now they were both enjoying their last real summer with each other in every sense of the word. And they didn’t have to sneak around and hide, since Jack’s parents both knew and accepted them.

It was just another beautiful day- Jack and Kent woke up together, bright and early, totally trashed the gigantic, normally pristine kitchen making chocolate-chip pancakes, then headed out, playfully pushing and shoving each other, to Jack’s relatively beat-up old truck to make the one-and-a-half-hour drive to Mont-Tremblant National Park for a nice and relaxing hike. Or so they thought.

The drive there was smooth- there was little to no traffic so early, and the pair alternated between chatting, arguing over the radio and kissing sneakily at every traffic light. They pulled into the near-empty parking lot half an hour earlier than expected.

That was their mistake.

On a normal weekend in the summer, the hiking trails would have been packed with people. But at eight in the morning, Jack and Kent were the only people on the quiet, leafy path. As the sun streamed brightly through the dappled leaves and the only sounds Jack could hear were the birds chirping happily in the trees and his and Kent’s footsteps along the path, the tight ball of worry that always seemed to clench his heart disappeared like smoke on the breeze. He felt free, unchained, unencumbered by his many worries in this peaceful place.

He was grateful that he had controlled his anxiety med doses, at least, for now. 

In the weeks and days before the Memorial Cup final, crushed by the pressure, crowded with self-doubt and insecurities and feeling like a trapped animal, he’d shoved handfuls of pills into his mouth until he couldn’t feel anything at all. It had only enhanced his famous focus, speed and eye for detail, so he kept on doing it until Rimouski had won. His appetite was smaller than ever and he still got the shakes sometimes, but to him, it was worth it.

Kent had tried to stop him once, but after seeing Jack screaming, crying and shaking uncontrollably just before the third round, he had sadly stood aside, handed him the bottle and not left his side until he had taken four Xanax pills- more than he was prescribed and less than he normally took, but enough to avoid any problematic side effects, and all that Kenny allowed him. He still took more whenever Kenny wasn’t around, but with those four pills, he managed to remain normal and in control of himself to a degree, he felt.

He hadn’t taken them for a week, and he felt almost ridiculously normal. Wistfully, he wondered how it would be to feel like this all the time. Free. Confident. Relaxed. More like himself.

A twig snapped loudly in the distance, jolting him out of his reverie. He and Kent swivelled around, startled, looking for the source of the disturbance. It was hard to see through the the dense cover of the forest, but there didn’t seem to be anything. They turned back around and kept walking, but Jack still felt a prickle of discomfort. He wasn’t sure whether it was just the usual or whether it was something more sinister. Just in case, he started walking a little more slowly, and told Kenny to do the same, just so that you couldn’t hear their footsteps. 

The further they walked, the more odd things they noticed. There were a number of tree branches fallen around the path. They heard strange, disembodied noises at every turn. The birds had all gone quiet. And inexplicably, there seemed to be tracks of blood on the branches.

Jack was tempted to turn tail and go right back to civilisation. But Kenny insisted they finish for the spectacular view and so Jack could get some nice photos. How could he resist?

They were a couple of hundred metres away when the wolf attacked.

It was so silent that Jack only realised it was there when it jumped right on top of Kent, snarling and hissing. It was grizzled and vicious, bigger than any normal wolf, and no matter how much Jack hit it with his voluminous hiking bag, screamed at it and hit it with a huge stick he found, it just would not budge, tearing at Kent’s face and arms with a malice that terrified him. The wolf was already going for Kent’s jugular, trying to finish him and drag him away, and Kent was already weak and bleeding profusely, so if Jack didn’t find a way to do something…he didn’t even want to finish that sentence. 

But it was when, after hitting it right on the stomach with the pointy end of the stick that the wolf yelped in pain, and distracted, ceased mauling Kent to look up at Jack, enraged. Jack was simultaneously stunned and terrified. 

The creature was grey, with a mangy, torn up coat. 

Grey wolves weren’t supposed to exist in this forest. 

But what was worse was the wolf’s eyes- they were bright yellow, and curiously alert, almost human in their shine. Jack shivered. It was unnerving enough to snap him out of his spiral and hurriedly drag a now unconscious Kent to shelter behind an expansive tree.

He felt his pulse. It was slow, but it was definitely there. He would be fine.

Jack emerged from the cover and faced up with the now growling wolf. He swung the stick at it, hard, at the same time that it leaped to knock him to the ground, sharp teeth bared, eyes hard and hungry.

The last thing Jack remembered was falling hard, his back digging sharply into the ground, and a sharp bite to the neck, as he drifted into a strange blackness.

He awoke two days later in a sterile, oddly bright place, which he found out later was the local town hospital with his parents and Kent peering nervously over him. He was relieved to find that not only were both of them alive, but they’d only sustained relatively minor injuries, with both he and Kent having a number of bruises and stitches. The worst injury was Kent’s leg, which was merely sprained and badly bruised and would recover fully in a matter of weeks, and a strange, deep scar on Jack’s neck, which despite being disinfected and stitched up, still puckered red and gash-likes. But with multiple reassurances from the doctors and nurses that all would be well, the two boys were discharged to recover in peace at home until the draft two weeks later. 

Or so they thought.

Kent’s symptoms manifested first, just a few days before the full moon, a couple of days after they’d returned home. With no provocation, he began shaking and whining, couldn’t stand much light, developed a sudden craving for all kinds of meat, especially raw, his nails growing ridiculously long in a matter of hours, his arms becoming inexplicably hairy. Jack was terrified and perturbed, but tried to help as best he could, setting up a small room in the basement, bringing him cold towels and painkillers to soothe his fever and aching hands, bringing him as much steak and every other single meat he had in his fridge. Kent ate every single piece and demanded more. But it was his eyes that scared Jack the most. Kenny’s eyes were always shifting and changing between blue and green, but on the day of the full moon, his eyes suddenly turned a very disturbing shade of yellow. The same as the wolf’s.

Jack had harboured a secret fear that this was what he thought it was, but after reading up on some mythological literature and consulting some shady websites, his worst fears were confirmed. Kent had become a werewolf. And not just any werewolf- a loup-garou, the French-Canadian version of one, and according to literature, one of the most dangerous and powerful iterations.

Luckily for Jack, Kent didn’t change any further and returned to his normal self before dawn broke the next day. Jack wasn’t going to tell him just yet if he didn’t remember what had happened, but horrifyingly, Kent remembered everything. Jack honestly didn’t know whether it was worse or better.

Both of them thanked their stars it wasn’t so bad, researched how to suppress and control the condition and were confident that since the full moon had passed with nothing happening to Jack, he got off lucky.

But that was until the next day, when Jack suddenly woke up covered in fur, his fingers turned to claws, his eyes the same shade as the wolf responsible for this and his arms and legs rapidly expanding, with Kent standing wide-eyed and open-mouthed in the doorway.

He tried to tell Kent to run, but the only sound that came from his now-snout was a mournful, deep howl.

Thank goodness his parents were away on a trip to New York, is all he could think.

He knew Kent had no choice but to lock him in the basement- he had no other way of controlling the deadly, lethal force Jack had now become. He tried to help as much as he could in every way. But it was never enough, and it was lonely as hell in there. He cried and whined and scratched with no respite. He couldn’t control any of his bodily functions despite still being totally conscious and aware of everything. He was always hungry, and sometimes when Kent came into his hermitage to help him, he had dark, crazy thoughts of murder and bloodlust. But he somehow always controlled them and tried to be as docile and unassuming as possible. Kenny deserved no less.

Once he recovered completely, four days later, he and Kent tried to formulate a plan of action. They went to their local library and pored hungrily and relentlessly over the history and mythology sections, they scoured the entirety of the mythology and cryptid section of the internet, and they conducted small experiments on themselves, trying to see whether they could either defeat or live with this new condition. 

Meanwhile, the draft crept ever closer. Jack’s anxiety reached new highs, and he had gone back to his ridiculous Xanax doses, which grew and grew and extended even to Kent as they both turned uncontrollably and violently due to the stress and anxiety. They’d even gone hunting together once in the woods, but agreed to never go after humans and subject anyone to what they were going through. They felled a doe and ravenously consumed them.

Kent did feel guilty, but not as much, being a devout meat eater. Jack, a consummate animal lover, had slowly started going vegetarian, and was filled with regret and sadness at what he had stooped to.

They would have told Alicia and Bob, but how could they? They would never believe them. They would try to rationalise it as fear and anxiety giving way to bad dreams. But this was a real life nightmare. And it wasn’t going away anytime soon. So they hid it, terrified and alone. 

Meanwhile, media scrutiny of the pair, their playing and their relationship had only intensified, and with the endless press conferences, gruelling exercises and general atmosphere of anticipation and pressure, Jack was falling apart inside. He felt defeated, drained, and internally crushed. Kent wasn’t doing much better, but he didn’t suffer like Jack did. He was mentally much stronger. He would be fine.

The day before the draft, consumed by the energy demands of constant transforming, physical and psychological testing and all the expectations, the pressure, the intense disassembling of his entire self- he went overboard. He just wanted to control the constant tangle and racing of his heart and mind. He couldn’t even think straight. He just wanted it all to stop for just one moment.

He grabbed his pills from the bathroom cabinet, shoved two handfuls in his mouth and washed it down with his favourite mouthwash. 

Then he lay on the cool, marble tile floor and tried to relax, for once.

It wasn’t until his throat began to close up, his heart began to slow too much and he saw his hand turning blue that he realised he’d made a mistake.

But was it really a mistake? Whatever happened at the draft, he knew that this…thing he had become would never allow him to reach his full potential in hockey. He would have to hide himself from everyone, always. He would only cause heartbreak to his family, and pain and destruction everywhere else. And considering how he felt right now, this was probably the best thing that could happen to him. He drifted away, struggling to feel at peace with his decision.

He didn’t count on Kent finding him, performing CPR on him, begging him to wake up.

It took him six months to recover and another year in rehab and coaching peewee for him to even consider getting back into the world, into hockey. 

On the eve of his journey to college at Samwell, he promised himself that he’d never slip with his secret. That he would be who he was meant to be. 

That he would be better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Morgan + other people who happen to be reading this! I am SO SORRY for the delay, I've just been swamped with irl stuff, e.g job applications, going interstate for holidays, trying not to have nervous breakdowns, etc, but I've FINALLY finished this fic and will be uploading this all periodically today until the Feb 1st deadline! Morgan, I will send you the raw manuscript via email as well, and if you want me to make any changes I'm happy to do so and reupload as required :)


	3. This Feeling (Samwell Part I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bitty and Jack's worlds collide at Samwell.

Eric’s very first week at Samwell was…a lot. Between struggling with being north of the Mason-Dixon and being away from his parents for more than a couple of days for the very first time in his life, not to mention rushing around to try and find his classes on the ridiculously large campus and most importantly, not finding a workable oven anywhere, he was ready to pack up and run back home to Georgia and cuddle with his mama for the foreseeable future. But, apparently, fate had different plans for him that did, in fact, involve both hockey and a college education.

The saving grace of that week was, ironically, the part that he thought would be the scariest- properly meeting his team, or, as they liked to be referred to, ‘the boys’. Fearing a repeat of the closet incident, Eric had kept his mouth firmly shut, dressed as conservatively as possible and tried his very best not to be anything but himself. 

Happily, however, he turned out to have completely misjudged them.

His two batchmates, who called themselves Ollie and Wicks, were kind, although laconic and seeming to stick to each other like limpets to a rock, and finding them not too threatening, Eric decided that this interaction, at least, was reasonably successful.

The very first time he met the rest of the boys was during the very first team breakfast of the year, Eric’s fourth day of being an official college student. He’d just sat down with his standard bowl of corn flakes at the long table, trying to relax and look as inconspicuous as possible when a thin boy with twinkling yet kind green eyes and an impressive brown moustache and hair collapsed loudly onto the chair next to him and nudged him gently.

“Hello!”, he said enthusiastically. “It’s Eric Bitty, isn’t it? You’re one of our new wingers?”

“Um, hello. Good morning. Hi”, Eric said back hesitantly, trying to be nice but restrained.   
“Uhhhhh I guess? It’s actually Bittle, but Bitty’s cute, actually! Bitty’s fine”

The other boy beamed in response, and, clapping Eric on the back, seemed to take this as an invitation to talk further.

“Awesome!! So, Bitty! How’s your first couple of days of college been? Ahhhh, I remember those days! How are your classes? Your dorm? Everything going ok? Nobody’s being a dick to you, right? If they are, tell me and I will fuck them right up, okay? By the way, the name’s Shitty, Shitty Knight!”

Privately, Eric wasn’t sure whether it was a blessing that this strange person was the first person on the hockey team he’d had a proper conversation with or not, but for the moment, he decided to embrace it, ridiculous name and all.

“Well, Shitty…they’ve been…a lot, that’s for sure! Classes, hockey, trying to get around, trying to understand y’all’s accents properly! But I do like it! Classes are okay, they’re easy for now but I guess I’ll have to start studying properly sooner or later! And no no everything’s just fine, don’t worry! But I’ll let you know if anything does happen, okay?”

Shitty squinted at him for a bit, but after some consideration, found Eric’s answer satisfactory.

“Alright then, if you say so! So, you don’t sound like you’re from this neck of the woods?”

“Nope, you’re right, I’m not a Yankee! I’m actually from the South, Georgia to be precise!”

Shitty chuckled.

“That explains the accent! It’s so cute! And it’s so nice to see a dude from the South who’s not a bigoted, dickfaced cockhole!”

Eric smiled.

“Well, thank you…Shitty, that’s nice of you to say that!”

It was at this moment that two very large, muscly boys, who were arguing profusely, tripped and fell ungracefully on top of Shitty before he shoved them onto the floor, where they continued to argue at the top of their lungs.

“Rans! Holtzy!”, said Shitty amusedly, stubbornly poking the two behemoths into attentiveness. “This is Bitty, one of our new frogs! Say hello to him and try not to send him away screaming, for fuck’s sake!”

At this, the two boys promptly stopped, and swivelling their heads around in creepily perfect unison, promptly screamed “BITTYYYYYYYYY” at volume levels normally reserved for sports matches, and plopped onto the seats right next to Bitty, boxing him in and ruffling his neatly coiffed hair.

“Heyyyy Bitty! Welcome to Samwell! What’s up??”, said the larger, bespectacled blond boy loudly, popping a whole hash brown into his mouth.

“Um…hello! Not much, I guess? Mostly class and hockey, so far?”, said Bitty hesitantly.

“No new friends? No parties? No socialising yet? What a travesty!”, interjected the slightly smaller but incredibly striking boy next to him, who incidentally, had cheekbones that could cut glass.

“Well…”, said Bitty hesitantly. He didn’t exactly want to disclose the fact that he’d been shutting himself up in his dorm out of nervousness with no other company apart from a small bunny.

“Aw, come off it, Rans, I remember how my first week was!”, the larger boy said indignantly, almost knocking his friend off his chair. “I didn’t talk to anyone for days!”

“What utter bullshit, as soon as you walked into the rink you didn’t stop talking until we had to start skating suicides”, said the other boy smugly, knocking his aggressor right back.

“Anyway”, Shitty interjected, clearly fed up of the non-introduction, “this albino eldritch monstrosity is Holster”,

“Hey, I am not an albino, shut up already!”

“And this lovely young man right here is Ransom, our resident party planner, Excel spreadsheet wizard, half of the NCAA’s best defense pair and bio majoring coral reef!”

“Awesome to meet you, bro! Now, we’re going to give you an actual social life, just you wait!”, said Ransom cheerfully, giving Bitty a big hug.

“That we are”, said Holster knowingly, patting Bitty sagely on the head.

That was when an absolute specimen of humanity with heartbreakingly blue eyes and a traffic-stopping derriere stalked past the group and slouched on the chair next so Shitty, but leaning as far away as possible, loudly eating hard-boiled eggs.

“And that”, intoned Shitty in the tone of a natural historian describing a particularly elusive species, “is the incomparable, inimitable, secretly lovable grump of Samwell men’s hockey- the one and only Jack Laurent Zimmermann, in his especially bitchy pre-season display”.

“Oh, shut up Shits, I’m not that mean”, returned Jack, glaring somewhat resignedly before training his eyes on Bitty.

“Bittle”, he said, in a completely business-like tone, his eyes icy and devoid of any kind of emotion.

“Yes?”, Bitty replied nervously, privately terrified of this sentient ice sculpture.

Jack looked at Eric’s half-demolished bowl of corn flakes. Then cast a critical eye all up and down Bitty’s body. Then looked right back at him again.

“You need to eat more protein”, he said shortly, before getting up abruptly, turning on his heel and stalking out of the dining hall.

Bitty looked disbelievingly into space like he was looking into a camera on The Office.

“He did not!”, he complained to Shitty, looking daggers after the retreating figure of Jack.

Shitty shrugged.

“Welcome to Samwell Mens’ Hockey, kid”, Shitty said resignedly. “He’s a softie once you get to know him, don’t worry!”

“Sure”, replied Eric in scathing tones that suggested the exact opposite. “And hell has a free supply of ice water.”

As Jack walked up three flights of stairs to his eleven am American revolutionary war history lecture, he thought whether he could have handled that interaction with his tiny new winger any better.

As he reconsidered the event and remembered Bittle’s large, shocked brown eyes, he decided that yes, he definitely could have handled that better.

Ah well, nothing else he could do now. And he hadn’t said anything that wasn’t for Bittle’s welfare anyway.

He decided that he’d handle it later. He had bigger fish to fry than disgruntled freshmen.

 

That first free weekend after a gruelling month of daily practices and preseason torture, the Samwell Mens’ Hockey team’s first party, or ‘kegster’, as they called them here, was held at the hockey team’s crumbling frat den, or as they called it, ‘The Haus’. It was like cool water after a hot summer’s day for Bitty. He had finally adjusted to college life and to northern life, and subsequently had both been having a lot of fun and been working harder than ever before. He’d finally made friends in his classes, and between his shenanigans with them and the hockey team, along with actually doing work and having to endure physical conditioning and training that was almost as bad as it had been when he figure skated, Bitty was in need of a stiff drink or two. And boy, was he about to get some.

Unfortunately, he grossly underestimated just how strong tub juice was. Within one glass he felt like he had knocked back at least three shots and everything was starting to get just a little blurry.

On the bright side, since the Haus was pretty much crawling with partygoers, there was little chance of falling down with the density of people crammed into the place. After having a small chat and dance with an even more gone Ransom, Holster and Shitty, he stumbled off to another corner of the party to go and talk to his non-hockey friends, before, after two tequila shots and another cub of extremely questionable tub juice, deciding to call it a night before he projectile vomited or passed out anywhere.

But on his way back out of the Haus, he suddenly came upon a mirage. A decently-sized, relatively clean kitchen.

Bitty pinched himself three times to confirm it wasn’t a drunken fantasy.

Then he dived right in.

He threw open the cabinets, and was extremely disappointed to find only endless bottles of Sriracha. But he was nothing if not a stubborn, drunk and hungry Georgia bulldog, so he turned the entire kitchen upside down trying to find at least flour, butter or substitutes, eggs and chocolate.

He knew the odds were slim, but he ended up finding just what he needed. The only things missing were his baking equipment, but what else were hands for, right?

As soon as he started making the dough, all his sluggishness and intoxication miraculously seemed to fall away, leaving him refreshed and at peace. His synapses were all firing at full capacity. Eric the baking prodigy was back in business.

In less than ten minutes, Bitty had pulled out no less than two trays of perfectly browned and melty cookies, with a little help from his magic. But for now, nobody needed to know that.

Attracted by the enticing smell, Ransom and Holster threw themselves into the kitchen practically salivating like a pack of hungry dogs.

“FOOD?!!?!”, they both yelled in odd unison.

Bitty smiled.

“Yep, I made cookies!”

They needed no further invitation.

It wasn’t until five minutes later, when one tray of cookies had been fully demolished that Shitty somehow caught wind of the situation and stumbled drunkenly into the kitchen, leaning on the countertop to steady himself.

“We have a kitchen? Whaaa?”, asked Shitty in a disorientated tone, looking around totally confused.

“Apparently!”, said Bitty brightly, trying to prevent Ransom and Holster from tag-teaming to finish the other entire batch of cookies.

“Cookies!!?!?!”, said Shitty happily, eyes filled with joy upon spying the baked goods. “Hasn’t it only been, like fifteen minutes? And where did you find all these things?!”

Bitty smiled wisely.

“Can’t go spilling all my secrets now, can I? Now, how many of these babies do you want?”

“ALL. OF. THEM!”, said Shitty, pouncing on the cookies.

Bitty had a sudden realisation when Shitty was on his second-last cookie.

“Where’s Jack? I haven’t seen him all of tonight? Would he want any cookies?”

Shitty chuckled, his mouth full.

“Jack doesn’t come to parties- too loud. He mostly stays up in his room watching history documentaries. And he would definitely not want any baked goods, dude’s mad healthy, you know”.

Bitty was disappointed, but only for a split second, since right after that, Shitty started loudly praising his baking to anybody who would listen and trying to set him up with all and sundry.

At that, Bitty laughed, said he had to be going, and ran back to his dorm through the night.

The semester kept rolling on in the blink of an eye after that, with Bitty spending pretty much all of his free time at the Haus baking, and the rest of the boys always ready to consume every single thing he made. The entirety of SMH seemed like a black hole of hunger to Bitty- he’d never seen them reject any food he made. But then again, he regularly baked satisfaction, friendship and amity into everything- how could anybody reject that?

Jack was still an enigma to Bitty, even after almost two months of knowing him. Off the ice, he only smiled or laughed very occasionally and didn’t seem to talk much, except with Shitty and Ransom and Holster. He greeted Bitty these days, but still, it wasn’t an instant click like it was with the others. Bitty supposed he’d have to give it a bit more time.

On the ice, Jack was a stern, prodigious god. He was clearly extremely talented, and even without knowing his full story, Bitty knew that he’d go very far. He was a great captain, too, if a bit harsh, always ready to give advice, help refine a technique and make the team push themselves to their full potential.

Bitty knew he was drawing Jack’s ire with his inability to take a check and his constant weaving and ducking to avoid any physical contact, but he got a compliment for his speed, and for now, that would have to be enough.

Finally, after what seemed like months, it was their very first game of the season.

Luckily, it was a home game, so at least they had home-ice advantage.

Somehow, even as Bitty, terrified, ducked and weaved around the ice, only looking up enough to spot his crimson-clad teammates, he managed to get the puck from Jack, and even surrounded by big burly defencemen on all sides, had the presence of mind to spin away from all of them and pass the puck to an open Ransom, who promptly dumped the puck into the net, confounding the opposing goalie.

The stadium erupted into roars. The entire team fell onto Bitty in a giant, sweaty, overjoyed celly. He’d helped them get a lead.

And just like that, Bitty had scored his very first points in NCAA hockey.

Even Jack whispered a brief praise in his ear. Bitty thought that this was a new leaf for him.

But sadly, sport isn’t a fairy tale. No matter how hard he tried, Bitty could just not take any sort of contact, let alone a hard check. A simple brush had him gasping on the ice. He wanted to get better, he did, but every time he saw someone coming at him he was transported back to that horrible day back in junior high. There was almost nothing he could do about it, he felt. For one of the first times since he’d come to Samwell, he felt totally powerless.

Jack was at his wits’ end. Bittle was clearly a talented and strategically gifted player. He was tiny, and he definitely needed to do something about his diet, but he was almost preternaturally fast. It was just this checking thing that was holding him back.

Jack decided he needed some outside help with this, so after a small talk with both coaches Hall and Murray, and after devising a brief plan and a small script, he sat Bittle down at one of the SMH’s favourite coffee spots, Annie’s, and suggested that if he wanted, Jack could help him with his checking issue.

Bittle, to his credit, was surprisingly amenable to this suggestion. He clearly loved hockey and was keen to work hard and to improve. He liked that about him. He had a tenacity and will that Jack didn’t generally see at this level. And with him thoroughly ingratiating himself into the team with his sunny, kind personality and delicious baked goods, he was a big boost to team mood and the lagging team dynamic. 

What helped Bittle agree to this suggestion even more was Jack offering to buy Bittle his ridiculous beverages every morning and the fact that Jack had purposely omitted the time he had in mind. He’d surprise him.

So, with much complaining and moaning on Bittle’s part, Jack woke him up every day at five in the morning for ‘checking clinics’. It was slow and arduous progress at first, but the more time they spent, the better things got. They got so good, in fact, that Bittle actually got through two checks from truly behemoth level defensemen and managed to score a goal in their next game against Yale. Truly, Jack was so happy he could cry. It really felt like Bittle had turned a corner. And for Jack, it seemed like he himself had, too. The more time he spent with Bittle, the more he felt like he wasn’t a self-destructive failure. He felt more and more like someone who could actually accomplish something after all.

It was almost the end of the semester before Bitty realised that he’d totally forgotten to reveal his ‘big’ secret- acceptance for which made him come to Samwell in the first place. Between finals seasons, games, practice and single handedly organising the very first #Hausgiving, he’d barely had time for that. True to form, he procrastinated until after exams were over and it was the very last day before everyone left for the holiday- but finally he decided, it was time.

He’d thoughtfully prepared palm cards for the occasion, but once he had sat Shitty, Ransom, Holster and Jack down at the SMH’s favourite table at Annie’s for a ‘special meeting’, all those careful plans flew straight out the window, and he found himself ungracefully saying, “So, by the way, guys…I’m gay”, and launching straight into the horrible closet story.

Once he had finished, for a few minutes, there was uncharacteristic silence. But just before Bitty thought that he’d made a massive mistake, he was promptly pulled into a ferocious group hug, with lots of back-slapping and head-petting.

After the raucous hug subsided, Shitty said kindly, “Thanks so much for trusting us with this, little Bits. We all love you so much, and you’re always going to be safe and respected here. We’ve all got each other’s backs, so if anyone even breathes at you wrong, rest assured they’re going to get an ass whooping they won’t forget. And remember, one in four, maybe more, so never feel like you’re isolated or alone, okay?”

Jack was gentler and kinder about the situation than Bitty had expected, reiterating the part about having each other’s backs, and even told Bitty that he could come and chat with him anytime if he needed to. Now that he knew Jack’s story, he knew that Jack was coming from a similar place and he could help. He readily agreed.

And Rans and Holtzy? After a flamboyant show of support, they promptly shifted their efforts from canvassing campus to find Bitty a female date for Winter Screw to canvassing campus to find Bitty all the gay, bi, pan, trans or questioning men they could possibly find for Bitty. One in four, maybe more, they said, winking and nudging Bitty.

Heart now light and feeling more free with himself than ever, Bitty packed up all his things, got a ride to the airport with Jack and Shitty and headed home to Georgia and to his loving family for the Christmas and New Year season.

No sooner had Bitty walked back into the Haus to wish everybody a happy new year and began to scold Betsy, the Haus oven, for burning his cobbler than he suddenly ran into a tiny yet intimidating girl with a kickass pixie cut, a cute, snub nose, a studded tank top and cut-off shirts who, unperturbed, asked him “Sup, fam, have you seen Shits anywhere?”

Bitty, although extremely confused as to who this was, was nothing but a gentleman, and replied “No, I don’t think so! But do you want me to call him or something?”

“Nah, bro, it’s okay, don’t worry!”, said the newcomer, smiling as Bitty fumbled for his phone. “It’s just that he told me he’d be here today, so I thought I’d come and surprise him!”

No sooner had she finished saying this than a booming “LARDO!!!!” came echoing down the stairs, while a half-naked Shitty practically flew down the stairs to envelope the tiny girl in a hug and joyfully spin her around, patting her head the entire time.

“BROOOO you got the chop! Thought you’d chicken out on me there!! Looks hella good!”, screamed Shitty happily, trying to get her in a headlock.

“Brooo as if I’d do that, Mama didn’t raise no quitter, did she? And dude, stop talking about my hair, look at that flow!!! So sick!”, she replied excitedly, rapidly ruffling Shitty’s hair.

It was then that Jack seemingly came flying into the Haus from nowhere, and upon noticing Lardo, promptly brushed Shitty aside, and with an uncharacteristically loud “LARDOOOO!!” promptly picked her up and enveloped her into a huge bear hug.

“How was Kenya??”, he asked, fascinated with her apparently new, much shorter haircut.

“It was kickass, dude! How was everything back here? Didn’t let the team fall apart without me, did you?”, she replied, smiling widely.

Jack snorted. “As if! By the way, you’ve already met Bittle, right?”

Lardo turned to look at Bitty properly and shook his hand. “Actually, dude, no! Hey, man, name’s Larissa, but please never call me that, I only respond to Lardo! I’m the team manager, it’s my job to make sure the team’s running alright! You must be Bitty, right? Shitty literally skyped me at two am to gush about your pies!”

Bitty was absolutely flattered

“Oh my gosh, you’re that Lardo? It’s so nice to meet you, I’ve heard soooo many stories! I just didn’t think you’d be…”

“So…me?”, Lardo interjected, laughing. “I get that a lot! It’s because of all the stupid stories these silly boys tell. But anyway, it’s amazing to meet you! Now, can I try one of these pies I’ve heard so much about?”

And so the entire party moved into the kitchen, while Bitty made another very close friend.

Spring semester went even faster than fall semester, Bitty thought. Checking clinic was still a thing, and Bitty had now improved so much in the physical department that he’d been moved onto the first line- Jack’s line. Bitty was truly honoured, although Jack privately still has some doubts. But Bitty knew that Jack was secretly proud of him. Which he was, but like a typical hockey robot, Jack didn’t quite know how to properly express emotion. So he didn’t say anything.

They met next year’s prospective frogs at the taddy tour, and with Bitty giving them personalised goodie bags filled with his supernaturally good baked items, which he’d as usual made the ‘special way’ and Shitty giving the tour, they were all pretty much sold. Bitty’s personal favourite was Chris Chow, the brace-faced, gangly, excitable and Sharks-obsessed goalie, who was a literal ray of sunshine, but Derek Nurse and William Poindexter, the two defensemen, seemed awesome as well, if a bit argumentative. Bitty figured they’d sort it out if they both came here, and turned his attention to other things.

After playing games week in and week out, with practices, conditioning and off-ice stuff, not to mention harder classes and almost endless parties and gatherings all blending together, it was an excellent surprise when Samwell Mens’ Hockey made the playoffs. Bitty, like the rest of the team, was extremely excited, but also super nervous. This was his first time being in a high-stakes situation hockey-wise. He didn’t know how well he would be able to handle it. But after reassurance from Shitty, Rans, Holster, Ollie and Wicks and an encouraging pep talk from Jack, Bitty was confident that he was ready for this and he wouldn’t let the team down.

The only thing that dampened their mood on the week after that first and decisive playoff win was the annoying TSN broadcast that mentioned Jack and went into excruciating and problematic depth, with no concern for Jack’s mental wellbeing or recovery.

But they all moved on from it and kept going.

But then, in the critical game- that was when everything unravelled.

After a brutal two periods full of gritty, physical and stressful hockey, Jack was at his wits’ end. Poor Rans and Holster had been checked almost into oblivion by giant forwards, their forwards weren’t making inroads anywhere and he himself was winded and exhausted, despite spending a lot of time on the bench. And they were one goal down.

Finally, after the buzzer went for the start of the third period, Jack’s (and Bitty’s) line was called onto the ice. Jack had showed Bitty a risky but highly effective play that he thought with Bitty’s speed, would work wonders. It would involve manouvering around truly giant defensemen, but Jack knew he could do it. He would.

What Jack didn’t count on was a truly brutal hip check causing Bittle to become airborne- and crashing hard onto the ice, his helmet falling off, his unprotected head bouncing once, twice, thrice on the unforgiving ice before he skidded to a stop, unresponsive.

“Bitty!” he whisper-screamed, as everyone scrambled onto the ice, hoping, praying that their darling Southern baker was okay.

Jack could have cried with relief when Bitty slowly got up and skated gently to the bench, dazed but otherwise okay.

They ended up winning that game, but it was bitter comfort when it was revealed that Bitty had a concussion- nothing super serious, but enough that he’d need months to recover.

Disheartened, they ended up losing the next round. They were all disappointed, of course. But Jack bounced back pretty quickly. Guilt consumed him, and he felt that he couldn’t progress if he didn’t apologise to Bittle for his dangerous lack of judgement. So he concocted a plan.

Just after the annual banquet, where Jack was somehow simultaneously awarded the C for the second year in a row, with Bitty gratefully receiving the John Carlisle Award, Jack cornered Bitty in his dorm while he was packing before leaving for break in a couple of hours.

“Bittle, are you free to talk? How’s recovery going?”

Bitty looked up, a bit surprised that Jack had somehow known where his dorm was. Jack had easily wheedled it out of his floormates. But he didn’t need to know that.

“Jack! Yes, of course! I’m going ok, still can’t use my phone, but it’s going alright, I guess!”

Jack, satisfied, took a deep breath.

“Look, Bitty…I know we haven’t seen eye to eye for a lot of this year, but I’ve got to thank you. For everything. Being yourself, voting me as captain despite what happened in playoffs…and I’m so, so, sorry about that hit. I am. I didn’t think about more than myself then, but now I know how important it is to have each other’s back in real life rather than just hypothetically. So, are we good now?”

Bitty’s eyes looked suspiciously bright as he responded, “Of course, Jack! There’s nobody better than you to be captain, silly! And I know, it’s not your fault, really! I’ll be just fine come next year, don’t you worry.”

He checked his phone before suddenly saying, “Oh my gosh, Jack, so sorry, but I have to get to the airport! Gotta run! Have a great summer, okay now? Bye!”

“Same to you, Bittle! And remember, eat more protein!”, Jack responded.

Laughing, Bitty ran to the waiting taxi. Things would be just fine.


End file.
